


Prompt 20: Maybe Don’t Give 110%...

by irrationalgame



Series: Thommy Comfortween Prompts [20]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Comfortween, Exhaustion, Halloween, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Overworking, POV Jimmy, i read the diary of Jimmy Kent too much and it shows, jimmy is a grade a idiot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:15:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27134431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irrationalgame/pseuds/irrationalgame
Summary: Comfortween prompts from https://hurtcomfortex.dreamwidth.org/22946.html20. Maybe Don’t Give 110%...Exhaustion, overwork, migraines and headaches, needing to be convinced to take a break.A Hallowe’en party at Downton makes extra work for Thomas. Jimmy tries to lighten the load.
Relationships: Thomas Barrow/Jimmy Kent
Series: Thommy Comfortween Prompts [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949317
Comments: 8
Kudos: 48





	Prompt 20: Maybe Don’t Give 110%...

**Author's Note:**

> The Hallowe’en Party is totally influenced by The Enchanted Life of Thomas Barrow by Are.
> 
> Unbeta’d

Jimmy wasn’t exactly work-shy, so to speak. He did his job and he was pretty good at it. He just didn’t believe in all that go-above-and-beyond nonsense Carson subscribed to. Work was work, not some lifetime quest to be the best little lapdog you could be. At the end of it he was just an employee and he cared for the Crawleys probably as much as they cared for him. They’d make him redundant or sack him if they had too, regardless of if he’d licked their boots for his entire life or not. The best he could hope for was to be given somewhere to die in when he was old enough to retire. Which, with a footman’s wage, was a very long time away indeed.

So sometimes he took advantage; of Alfred’s stupidity or Ivy’s idiotic crush, or Thomas’s lenience, in order to have a bit of a skive. He took long smoke breaks with Thomas, knowing the under-butler would cover for him. He palmed off responsibilities to Alfred, knowing the lanky ginger git would give his right hand to be first footman and was desperate to prove himself to Carson. He loitered in the kitchens, knowing Ivy wouldn’t tell anyone. He’d been known to hide in the china closet.

And just because the family were throwing a big Hallowe’en shindig - well, Jimmy wouldn’t let that eat into his work-shirking time.

Worse still was the way it was eating into his Thomas time. The under-butler had been so busy with the party preparations that Jimmy had barely seen him for a week. Not that Jimmy couldn’t survive a couple of evenings without Thomas’s company or was pining away after him or anything like that. It just made him feel unsettled. And lonely. Alfred’s company was really no replacement for Mr Barrow’s.

Talking of the ginger idiot, Alfred was currently standing on a ladder, as if he needed to be any taller, and hanging crepe-paper decorations from the ceiling. Jimmy was ‘helping’ which meant leaning nearby and occasionally handing Alfred a streamer.

“Big fuss for nothin’ this,” Jimmy huffed. He liked parties, but only as a guest, not an overworked dogsbody.

“It’ll be fun,” Alfred grinned stupidly, “Mr Carson said his Lordship has invited us all to have a drink and a dance after midnight.”

“Yes,” said Jimmy, “once we’re too tired to enjoy it. And then we get to have a jolly nice tidy up until the small hours.” Then he balled up a couple of streamers and threw them at Alfred’s head.

“Jimmy,” Thomas said, appearing from nowhere. Jimmy wished he knew how the under-butler did that. Carson was an expert at it too. It was definitely some sort of secret butler skill and they were banned from sharing the mysterious art with non-butler folk. Like the magic circle. But for butlers.

Jimmy snapped to attention. Or rather he stopped leaning quite so obviously. “Yes Mr Barrow?”

“Alfred will have to mange this,” he raised a critical eyebrow, “ _taxing_ task alone. I need your help.” He had a clipboard in his hand, a list several pages long pinned to the front of it. He looked, well, as ridiculously handsome and perfectly turned out as ever, and to the untrained eye it would appear that nothing was wrong.

However, Jimmy’s eye was expertly trained when it came to Thomas, and he could see the lines of stress etched into his face. He was holding himself a little too straight and tense, like he was overcompensating for being exhausted. Jimmy wouldn’t mention it in company though; Thomas would only a) be offended and b) deny it, as if to show any weakness was a sin.

So instead he said; “Of course Mr Barrow, what d’ya need?”

Thomas started to walk away and Jimmy had to do a little quickstep sort of a jog to catch up.

“If I leave you in charge of a few things will you actually do them?” Thomas said.

“I’m offended Mr Barrow,” Jimmy grinned, “d’ya think so little of me?”

The under-butler raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t answer that,” Jimmy said. Then; “Of course, if it’s you doin’ the askin’.” And he really had to stop saying soppy things like that, unless he wanted Thomas to get the wrong impression. Or rather the _right_ impression. Which was so very wrong. He mentally wiped the slate clean and listened attentively while Thomas went through a ten point list of things he needed Jimmy to personally do.

The instant he was released Jimmy handed off three of the tasks to the hall boys. He managed to convince Ivy to do another, and pretended Thomas had told him to tell Alfred to do one more. That left five. He smirked to himself - not bad for ten minutes of manipulation.

Seeing as the list was half-done he decided it was time for a well-earned break and made his way towards the courtyard for a smoke. As he passed Carson’s pantry he couldn’t help but hear Thomas’s clipped tone coming from inside. So, he loitered. Not eavesdropping exactly, just standing where he happened to be able to hear what was going on.

“Yes Mr Carson, it’s all in hand,” Thomas said, his tone walking the line between sincerity and condescension.

“It doesn’t seem so,” Carson started in his usual uppity manner. Honestly, you’d think the bloke would just float away with all the bloody airs he put on.

Jimmy made a bold and daring choice; he knocked on Carson’s door.

“Come,” Carson boomed, already annoyed even though he had no idea who was knocking or why. He did hate to have one of his diatribes interrupted.

Jimmy steeled himself and entered. “Ah, Mr Carson. I was looking for Mr Barrow, but I can see I’ve found him.”

“Yes?” Thomas said. His jaw was tight from the almost-run-in with Carson. His look said; _this better be good_.

“Just wanted to say the silverware is done,” _by the hallboys_ , “and the flowers will be arriving on Thursday afternoon,” _Ivy ordered them_ , “and the chairs from the attic are now in the great hall,” _courtesy of Alfred_ , “so everything is under control.” And he gave Mr Carson his most charming and not at all shit-eating grin.

“Thank you James,” Thomas replied.

“If that’s all?” Carson added, unimpressed. When was he ever impressed?

“Well...” Jimmy cast around for a way to spring Thomas from Carson’s prison of disdain. “I need Mr Barrow to approve the, uh, servant’s costumes.”

Both Thomas and Carson frowned in unison. Which was terrifying, even to someone as manly and brave as Jimmy.

“Well, err, Lady Rose thought it would be a fun surprise if the servant’s had, um, masks? Yes, masks and...capes?” Jimmy lied. Hopefully Lady Rose wouldn’t be asked about it and if she was she’d probably just go along with it. “And I’ve found some places that might be able to supply them but obviously I need Mr Barrow’s approval.” And he gave what he hoped was a winning smile.

Thomas, of course, knew he was lying but he’d never let on to Carson. “Ah, excellent,” he said, “so if there’s nothing more Mr Carson, I better get back too it.” And he swanned out before the butler could reply, Jimmy at his heels.

Thomas walked straight out of the servant’s entrance and there was a lit cigarette between his lips before the door had even closed behind them.

“Aren’t you going to say thank you?” Jimmy bobbed on the balls of his feet and grinned. Not because he was desperate for Thomas’s approval or anything. Oh, who was he kidding? He was dying for it.

“For what? Making a whole extra job? Now I have to find bleedin’ costumes as well?” Thomas replied tersely.

“I - oh, I didn’t think of that,” Jimmy said, abashed. “But I saved you from Carson’s wrath.”

“I’m used to Carson’s wrath,” Thomas said. “It’s like when people take a tiny bit of poison every day for years on end and become immune to it. I’m immune to Carson’s ire. What I’m not immune to though is your...meddling.”

Jimmy pulled a face, affronted. “I was tryin’ to help me mate.”

Thomas sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. The usual veneer cracked for a moment and Jimmy saw just how exhausted he looked. It did something funny to his insides, like he’d eaten something that had gone bad.

“I know,” Thomas said, “and thanks.”

“You’re knackered,” Jimmy pointed out.

“Haven’t slept much the past two nights. Carson wanted the wine inventory checking pre-party, and the menu’s checking again, and the guest list chasing up, and...and a million other things.”

“Tell him to do some of it himself the lazy old sod,” Jimmy frowned.

“Apparently this is my ‘test’ to see if I’ll be able to cope when the blessed day finally arrives and he retires,” Thomas blew a cloud of smoke skyward and Jimmy absolutely didn’t stare at the perfect red lips that had kissed him once, a lifetime ago.

“Retire?!” Jimmy snorted, “He’ll probably die in the bloody dining room pouring wine, the old bastard.”

Thomas smiled thinly and said; “If we’re lucky.”

To Jimmy’s dismay the week continued in the same vein; Thomas had more work to do than was humanly possible and Jimmy hardly saw him except for the tails of his livery flapping behind him as he strode from one task to the next. Mrs Patmore was on the warpath because some unknown culprit, that was most certainly not Jimmy, had eaten half a cake that was meant for the party. Mrs Hughes was becoming ever more annoyed at the constantly changing guest list and Jimmy had actually heard her curse for the first time. It was like hearing a nun swear or something.

Basically it was hell, which was apt seeing as it was a hallowe’en party.

It was a particularly wet and unpleasant Thursday morning when Thomas limped into the servant’s hall, a dusting of stubble on his face, just as Jimmy sat down for his breakfast.

“Whassamatter with you?” Jimmy said around a mouthful of porridge.

“Fell asleep at Carson’s desk,” Thomas downed a cup of scalding hot coffee like it was a bad scotch. “Back may never recover.”

“This has gotta stop,” Jimmy replied. He poured Thomas a another cup. “You’re burning the candle at both ends.”

“Only until this party is done with,” Thomas shrugged. “Right, I have to go shave before Carson sees me.”

“But you haven’t had breakfast...” Jimmy called to Thomas’s retreating back.

“No time!”

Jimmy didn’t see Thomas all morning. He ran in at lunchtime, grabbed a sandwich from the table and disappeared again. When it came around to supper and his chair was empty again, Jimmy decided to take action. He was not about to let his best and only mate starve to death. He sidled into the kitchen and waited for Mrs Patmore to be caught up in a party-related incident involving puff pastry before catching Ivy’s eye.

“What are you loitering there for?” she said.

“Can I ask you a favour?”

“You can ask,” she replied with a girlish smile. Jimmy shuddered internally.

“Could you make a tray for Mr Barrow? He’s missed eating again because of the party.”

She frowned. “And he’s asked for a tray? Mrs Patmore never said.”

“He hadn’t asked, I’m askin’ on his behalf.”

Ivy raised her eyebrows, her eyes round and curious like an irritating child, and said; “That’s very...thoughtful of you. Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m capable of bein’ thoughtful,” Jimmy frowned, insulted at the insinuation that he was purely a selfish creature. He was the epitome of kindness. When he felt like it.

Ivy opened her mouth to reply but clearly thought better of it and gave a nonchalant shrug, “Alright.” She quickly threw together a tray, making the leftover roast beef into sandwiches and magicking up a pot of tea. She might be a clingy drip with a penchant for falling in love and moping after anyone who looked at her, but she sure could cook. It would probably be worth marrying her for that alone. Maybe.

“Thanks,” Jimmy said, and threw her a cheeky wink just to see her blush. He took the tray to Carson’s pantry; sure enough, Thomas was sitting at Carson’s desk, bits of paper spread all around him, his head in his hands.

Jimmy watched him for a moment; how his brow was furrowed and how his hair had fallen free of its pomade and was casting a shadow over his face. He looked, well, vulnerable, in this unguarded moment and Jimmy was overwhelmed with the urge to smooth away his frown with his fingertips and kiss him until he smiled.

Jimmy blinked and shook the thought away. “Knock knock,” he said and Thomas looked up, his face back to its usual insouciance. “You missed supper so...” Jimmy held up the tray.

Thomas gave him a wan smile; “Thank Mrs Patmore for me.”

“Wasn’t her idea.” Jimmy deposited the tray on Carson’s desk and poured Thomas a cup of tea. “I’m the best mate ever y’know, all concerned for your wellbein’ and everythin’.”

“Thank you then,” He yawned dramatically and rubbed his forehead. “Don’t suppose there’s a Beecham’s powder in that cuppa?”

“You need to get some sleep. The party is tomorrow night, you’ll be no good to anyone if you keep going on like this.”

“There is nothing I’d love more,” Thomas replied. He took out bite out his sandwich then said; “gotta finish this first.”

“Can’t it wait till mornin?”

He shook his head. “Need it ready for first thing.”

Jimmy looked at the mess of paperwork on the desk and at Thomas’s tired eyes and said; “I’ll do it.”

Thomas huffed a laugh. “You’re volunteering to do extra work? And miss out on your beauty sleep?”

“Yes,” Jimmy said, “for you I am.”

Thomas blinked, a warm smile on his lips. “I couldn’t ask you to do that. You’d be up half the night.”

Jimmy’s insides did that funny thing again and his chest sort of ached in sympathy.

“Then I’ll be up half the night. I don’t mind.” And, strangely, he found he really didn’t mind at all. “Go on, before I think better of it.”

Thomas gathered up his tray and made to leave. He paused at the door. “Jimmy,” he said, “I, err, _thank you_.”

“You’re welcome.”

Thomas hadn’t been exaggerating when he said it would take half the night. Jimmy crawled into bed at three in the morning and grabbed a measly three hours sleep before dragging himself up at the six o’clock call. Today was going to be miserable and busy and no doubt he’d be up until the small hours again with this bleedin’ stupid hallowe’en party. It was hard to be too annoyed though; the memory of Thomas’s smile and his bashful thank you warmed Jimmy’s insides.

Thomas was missing at breakfast so Jimmy worked his magic on Ivy and brought Thomas a tray of toast and tea.

“Two days in a row?” Thomas smiled, “you’re making this a habit.”

“Maybe I’ll bring you breakfast in bed one day,” Jimmy replied and Thomas nearly choked on his tea. In the spirt of pushing past the awkwardness Jimmy said; “What’s all this then?” Carson’s pantry was full of boxes. The butler would have a heart attack if he saw it, which Jimmy didn’t give two shits about, but it would mean a right royal dressing down for Thomas. That was to be avoided.

“The bloody costumes is what,” Thomas said accusingly. “Thanks for that by the way. Now I’ve got to sort them all out and distribute them to everyone downstairs who’s coming up to the party.”

Jimmy frowned and looked at the mess. It was an easy enough job, but it would take ages to organise. “I’ll do it,” he said. It was his fault, so it was the least he could do really.

“You’ve got your own work.”

“I can manage if I miss my break,” Jimmy replied, already kneeling down and opening one of the boxes. A paper mâché mask of a devil peered up at him from within.

“You’re telling me the famous shirker Jimmy Kent is willingly missing an opportunity to have a break?” Thomas smirked.

“I’m not _famous_ for shirkin’,” Jimmy said indignantly. He put the devil mask on and pointed at Thomas. “You’re not doing it right if people notice you takin’ liberties.” Then, with the blush on his face concealed by the mask, he added; “And yeah, I would, _for you_.”

Thomas ducked his head and said; “Blimey Jimmy, you’ve gone soft.”

“For you, maybe I have,” Jimmy muttered.

Just then there was an almighty crash from the kitchens and the angry cry of Mrs Patmore; her wails sounded strikingly similar to a cat being strangled. Both men jumped as if they’d been caught doing something wrong. Which they absolutely _hadn’t_. There was nothing wrong with someone expressing his concern for his mate. Because that’s what they were. Mates. Best mates. Very close.

“Well,” Thomas said, “I better see what the commotion is. So. Thanks.” And he turned and left.

“ _Shite_ ,” Jimmy said from beneath his mask.

It took Jimmy hours to sort the costumes but it was kind of worth the work to see everyone’s reactions to the masks he’d chosen for them. He made sure to save the ugliest one for Alfred; it was a twisted old man with warts and horrible red eyes. When Alfred tried it on Jimmy said; “I think it’s an improvement actually,” and then scarpered as Alfred threatened to lamp him one.

Mr Carson looked at Jimmy like he’d gone insane when the footman tried to give him a hooded skull.

“I would rather be taken to the depths of hell itself,” Carson said, “than wear that.” Jimmy thought his snobbishness was hilarious, considering his previous employment on the stage. Perhaps if there had been a clown mask he’d have been more willing.

Jimmy kept the devil mask for himself and a pale-faced vampire for Thomas, which was perfect.

Finally, after what had been the longest and most irritating build-up of all time, the party began. Jimmy was endlessly busy taking coats and serving drinks and handing out canapés - he only saw Thomas as they passed on the stairs.

“Are you feeling alright Mr Barrow?” Jimmy called after him, “you look a bit pale.” Jimmy betted that if he peeked under Thomas’s mask that the under-butler was smirking.

“Cheeky devil,” Thomas shot back.

The house was heaving with more people than Jimmy had ever seen packed into it - most were wearing some sort of costume, or at the very least a silly hat. There was music playing in the great hall and several couples had started dancing around - it was very strange to see a mummy and a bat doing the onestep together. Jimmy itched to dump his platter of vol-au-vents and have a dance himself, but it wasn’t worth Carson’s ire to stop working until midnight. He settled for sneaking a glass or two of champagne and several canapés.

Everyone gathered in the great hall a few minutes before the clock struck midnight. Jimmy hung around the back of the group and was pleased when Thomas came to stand beside him. He had pulled his mask up and balanced it on his head - his cheeks were flushed from the exertion of running up and down the stairs all evening and he looked about ready to drop.

Whilst everyone’s attention was on the countdown to midnight, Jimmy made yet another bold and daring move (he was on a roll); he grabbed Thomas’s hand and pulled him away from the party and through the green baize door, closing it behind them. The manoeuvre may or may not have been influenced by the tiny bit of champagne buzzing through his system.

Once they were alone in the stairwell Thomas said breathlessly; “What are we doing?”

“You’re going to bed before you fall down,” Jimmy replied. He still had hold of Thomas’s hand, and it felt, well, _nice_.

He was holding hands with Thomas and it was _nice_. Jimmy wondered what’s other parts of Thomas would be nice to hold and blushed madly under his mask. Now that definitely _wasn’t_ the sort of thing he should be thinking about a mate.

“Jimmy I can’t just leave the clean-up,” Thomas started but Jimmy cut him off.

“You can. I’ll sort it.”

“Carson will have my guts for garters.”

“Please never mention Carson and garters in the same sentence again.”

Thomas laughed at that and Jimmy couldn’t help but stare at the way his face lit up and his eyes crinkled. It made him look younger and all the more stunning, and Jimmy thought he’d happily give an eye to make Thomas laugh like that over and over again. He’d even scoop the thing out himself with a rusty spoon.

“Right Mr Barrow,” Jimmy said, “to bed with you.”

“Well,” Thomas replied, “you’ll have to let go of my hand unless you plan on coming to bed with me.”

Somehow a million angry butterflies had found their way into Jimmy’s stomach and they chose that exact moment to all start flying about like nutters. Jimmy pulled off his mask with his free hand and said; “I’d like that.”

Thomas’s face went through about twenty different emotions in half a second, which should’ve been hideous to watch but was, somehow, endearing. Jimmy concluded the only way he could find such a display cute was if he’d gone completely insane and fallen in love with Thomas.

 _Bloody hell, he’d fallen in love with Thomas._ It was the only rational explanation.

Bleedin’ arrogant, sarcastic, nasty, brilliant, clever, funny, brave _Thomas_.

Thomas, who was twice the man Jimmy was and who somehow deigned to love him anyway.

“Jimmy,” Thomas warned, “please don’t joke about that.”

“I’m not,” Jimmy said simply and there must’ve been something in his face or the way he said it that gave Thomas pause.

“You’re...serious, aren’t you?” Thomas said.

Jimmy nodded. “You really are always right about everything, aren’t you? You were even right about me.”

Thomas raised an eyebrow; “Took you long enough to catch on.”

“I’m not the brightest spark,” Jimmy sighed. “Don’t let this go to your head though. You can barely fit in the servant’s hall as it is.”

Thomas huffed out a laugh. “If this is your pillow talk you could do with some lessons.”

“Only if you’re doin’ the teachin’.”

The clock in the great hall struck twelve and as a great cheer went up, in his boldest move yet, Jimmy leaned in and pressed his lips against Thomas’s. The under-butler threaded a hand through Jimmy’s hair and kissed him back, his tongue sliding into Jimmy’s mouth, which was definitely _not_ what best mates did together.

When they broke apart Jimmy said, with mock seriousness; “I guess we’re not best mates anymore then.”

Thomas’s smile faltered. “Oh?”

“Because now we’re sweethearts.”

Thomas gifted Jimmy the most brilliant smile and they kissed, the sounds of the party fading away to nothing. For Jimmy, only Thomas’s proximity meant anything anymore, and it struck him that he’d felt that way for a very long time.


End file.
